


Diplomacy

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [25]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Discipline, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo has a lesson in diplomacy.





	

Kylo didn’t mean to misbehave. He really didn’t, and maybe he should have thought before he opened his big, fat mouth at the high table in front of the delegates and diplomats who came to beg for boons and concessions… But he _knew_ them, from back when they snivelled to his mother and the Senate. There was no loyalty there, no sincerity, and their lip-service made the fine food turn to Bantha-fodder. 

And now he was alone with the Emperor, all the liars gone. 

“Kylo. Do you know what you did wrong?”

Defiant, he stands to attention. “Yes.” 

“Do you? Or do you not agree with me?”

“I know why you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

Semantics. His teeth itch, and he stares front and centre. “Disappointed, then.”

The Emperor sits in his throne, which Kylo stands before. He should probably kneel, but it’s too late now. He understands logically, but he disagrees fundamentally. His eyes bore into the wall behind his head, jaw set firm. 

“Pet.”

What does he want? Kylo doesn’t know, now. He did ‘wrong’, but he’s not sorry for the act, just sorry Poe is upset. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Poe does not lift his voice. 

“I don’t understand what you want? I’m not going to lie. I’m sorry you’re not happy with me, but I’m not going to apologise when I don’t mean it. That’s _wrong_.”

“Tell me why you were impolite to my guests, causing me public embarrassment, then,” Poe pushes. 

“They were all lying to you.”

“I knew before I invited them.”

“So why should I be nice to people who lie to your face?” He meets his gaze, now. Defiant and angry. He could take lies and falsehood directed to himself, but the insult of doing it to the Emperor…

“That’s diplomacy. If I want to rule without bloodshed, I have to accept that some don’t like me. They will not, however, respect me if even my hospitality isn’t guaranteed in my own house. You offended me more than they did.”

“They were lying!”

“They don’t matter to me, you do. You do, and you hurt me by your actions. Now do you understand? Your loyalty is admirable, but I need you to back me up, not divide the message. You need to trust me to handle things, and raise your concerns in private.”

Kylo thinks about this for a moment. Accepting that anyone can hurt Poe without being challenged is difficult, but… he… can see the point. He was a brat, and he didn’t trust Poe to handle it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Not for hating them, but for letting them see.”

“Good. Now you understand. But you’re going to need something to stop beating yourself up about this, aren’t you? So we can close the matter off.”

It’s true. He’ll worry about it for days if they don’t, but if he feels he’s earned forgiveness, he can move on. Poe knows him too well. 

“Yes, Master.”

He doesn’t know what it will entail, but he drops to one knee and bows his head. 

Poe walks out, and comes back in with a paddle. One side leather, the other covered in blunt studs. Kylo swallows, and gets up. He bends over Poe’s lap and feels the fabric of his tunic pulled up. He’s going to be swatted through the fabric of his pants like the brat he is, so the studs don’t draw blood. 

It will still hurt. 

“How many of them did you know?”

“Four.”

“And for how long?”

“Twenty-five years?” Please don’t multiply. 

“I think fifty swats is fair, then, don’t you?”

Still a lot, but the transgression was major, and it’s half what it could be. Kylo nods. 

“What was that?”

“Yes, Master.”

The first five slaps don’t really register. They hurt, but not enough. He tries not to tense, but then a slap hits just right and he cries out in pain. 

He deserves it. He deserves it. He’s not good enough, not for the Emperor. Not for Poe. He’s bad, and he didn’t trust him, but he just wanted to–

“I protect _you_ ,” Poe reminds him. 

“Yes, Master.”

“Wanting to protect me isn’t bad. I’m not angry with that, I’m **pleased**. But you trust me, or you talk to me. You do _not_ take matters into your own hands.”

It’s the rules. If he wants Poe to protect him, he has to let him. Has to remember that Poe knows more. Has to talk, not act out. 

The pain makes his whole ass throb, and the indignity of needing the reprimand: deserving. it, then requiring it… His hands clench, and he tries to flow into the pain. 

The fiftieth smack lands, and it isn’t enough. Kylo wants to run away, wants to hide his head and sob. It’s not enough, and he’s so bad, he’s too bad, too bad, too–

The next round isn’t discussed, but Poe knows he needs it. It falls faster, and the bliss of being so loved, so understood, so taken care of that Poe gives him what he needs all the same… 

Fifty more land and, by the end, the tears are no more, and he’s soft and gone in his lap. He feels stroking to his hair, but he’s so under it’s impossible to thank him. For now. Later he will, with his acts and words. 

Poe knows what’s best. Kylo remembers, now.


End file.
